


Lady of the Light

by SaffronDragon



Category: Torg: Eternity
Genre: Aftermath of Possession, Emotional Sex, F/F, First In The Fandom, High Fantasy, Hurt/Comfort, I REGRET NOTHING, I don't care what the lore says they're wives, I've never done this before, Non-Canon Relationship, Sweet Sweet Lesbianism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-21
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-18 10:27:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21509563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaffronDragon/pseuds/SaffronDragon
Summary: For a hundred years, Queen Pella Ardinay has been under the possession of the High Lord Uthorion. Now, on the eve of the greatest war in all of eternity, her love has returned her body to her. What do you do when the fate of every universe is at stake, and you still have to remember what it means to be human?
Relationships: Pella Ardinay/ Tolwyn Tancred
Kudos: 1





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you think I've tagged something wrong, please let me know, this is my first time posting on AO3. I'm still not 100% sure how explicit the sexual content is going to be, but there will be some level of sweet sweet lesbian fuckin', of course. I'm both surprised and not surprised at all that this is the first work based on this series, but I guess there's a first for everything. Who knows, maybe I'll even inspire someone reading this to write their own Torg fanfic, I know that was the ideal for me when I started this. And shoutout to everyone on the official Torg forums if you somehow find this! Deanna, you're the best. Anyway, enjoy.

“Good morning, my lord,” said Pella. She had long since forgotten how it was that she could speak, being a soul severed from a body, but she knew that if she was not welcoming he would make her hurt.  
The eyes of the body snapped open, and a mental voice slithered around the disembodied voice. “Hmm. You’re back. Are you ready to bear witness to another invasion, my sweet?” thought Uthorion. Though in the physical world, his voice was sweet and clear, still imitating the high-pitched brogue of Pella Ardinay, when he spoke directly to her spirit it was with a deep voice, sticky and fouled with malice.  
Pella didn’t bother answering. She didn’t communicate with Uthorion much, having long since learned that everything she said would get turned back on her with the cruel creativity only an ageless High Lord could muster.  
“Very well. You should really be more thankful, with all the wonders I’ve shown you. The master said that this one was another Earth, you always seemed to like those ones.” Uthorion drifted out of bed, and his feet barely touched the ground as he made his preparations. After all, even borrowed possessions must be taken care of.  
That was not one of Pella’s thoughts. But with no body of her own, sometimes one of Uthorion’s thoughts slipped into her mind.  
Uthorion’s body was that of a woman, tall and regal, with golden hair that hung past their armpits in two braids, blue eyes that boiled with cruelty, thin lips that rarely spoke the truth. It was a tall body, 180 centimeters, slender yet strong, shoulders held back and head held high. Pella looked at it for a long time, trying to remember why it was so familiar. As Uthorion slipped a pale blue dress of Scanian silk over his shoulders, she remembered. Once, a very long time ago, that body had been hers.

. . .

Uthorion held his court in a castle as old as Aysle, where the very stones were sodden with enchantment and the clamoring of the noble houses was neverending. There were more reports from the hinterlands, as there was every day that Pella could remember, of a Daleron convoy befouled to a man and left for dead by goblins, or viking raids on the trade sea, or tales of undead preying on the villages of Elveim. With a phrase and a smirk, Uthorion dismissed them all, cackling at Pella as he allowed her world to fall to ruin.  
Pella didn’t know how long it went on. She tended to fade easily without something to draw her attention, spread her mind out and out like a drop of milk in the boiling sea until nothing remained, only to be yanked back together when Uthorion felt like showing her some new torment. Sometimes it felt almost as if she was about to escape, to leave the world of the living at last and go among the stars… but she was still here, still a part of Uthorion, in the end.  
“Where are you going? You know you aren’t dead, not for lack of trying.” Uthorion knew everything she was thinking, of course. He didn’t always pay attention, and Pella liked it that way. “Besides, I really want you to see what’s happening to your world.  
Pella ignored him. Suddenly, pain, her mind overwhelmed with hunger and thirst and a thousand sensations that could not possibly have a source, and yet did.  
“Answer me when I am speaking to you, cur,” hissed Uthorion, his body still giving empty speeches about the need of the Ayslish court.  
“Of course master!” thought the bodiless spirit. “I love what you have shown me!”  
Pella could almost feel the smirk in Uthorion’s mood, emanating from his psyche like a palpable wind. His face reminded expressionless. Shame welled up in her, from a reserve without a bottom. What kind of woman was she that she couldn’t stand to resist him, even after this long, not even in the smallest of ways. If she was truly as strong as she had once claimed to be, she would be fighting from within, perhaps even finding a way to escape Uthorion’s grasp. Instead she was nothing, a pathetic mind, lower than the most craven goblin. Pella unfocused, and let her spirit dissipate into nothingness for a while.

. . .

When she remembered how to exist, the world was much darker. Uthorion was in a vast cavern, overlooking a horde of monsters a million strong. Pella dared not look at them, fearing her sanity from paying too much focus to the vast force of Darkness below her. To the left of Uthorion’s body was a strange, twisted woman, grey skin and glowing green eyes wrapped in strips of tattered red cloth. To his right was a man, tremendously muscled and strong, with a fine mustache, hefting a gigantic waraxe. Pella knew she had seen both of those figures before, in hidden meetings and dark conferences in the hidden chambers of Castle Ardinay. The creature standing before Uthorion was far more familiar to her.  
“Of course, master,” said Uthorion. Though his voice still had the feminine, musical quality of the body which produced it, he had given up on replicating Ardinay’s accent. “The tunnels will remain within the prescribed area, I’m sure of it. Malreaux will find no trouble in his invasion, not from us.”  
Standing before Uthorion was a being calling himself the Gaunt Man. Pella had no idea who he was or where he came from; all she knew was that this thing, clad all in black clothes and wielding a dragon-headed cane like a staff of power, was the only being in all of eternity that Uthorion respected as superior. And that scared her more than anything.  
“Of course,” said the Gaunt Man. Each word from his withered throat was a curse, a spell woven to corrupt and confound. “Would you mind if we spoke… privately?”  
Uthorion nodded deeply, slowly, loyally. Then he vanished. A barrage of new sensations assaulted Pella, as she was shoved back into his body. She had limbs again, a body, clothes draped over her skin and tastes on her tongue and the smell of wet stone in her nose and sounds, so many sounds, and she had the weight of her whole body on her feet and  
The cloth-wrapped woman grabbed Pella by the shoulder. Her skin was cold. Cold as the dead. She shoved her across the cavern floor, back up to Uthorion’s personal chambers in Castle Ardinay, leaving her there. Pella crumpled over, retreating into her thoughts. This was Uthorion’s flesh, not hers. She waited for him to take it back.

. . .

Uthorion didn’t return for days. Pella didn’t eat, barely slept, barely thought. It was like she had been ripped up, and she was trying to fix the holes in her mind that he had left. There were things she had forgotten that she couldn’t remember, no matter how much she tried to clutch them to herself like a child grasping at her toys being ripped away.  
When Uthorion returned, she was thankful to not have to control her own flesh anymore. He was ecstatic. The new invasion was going beautifully, the defenders having fallen in a matter of days. With this new alliance of High Lords, the only question would be which one of them would win out and become the Torg. Who was the Torg? Pella didn’t bother to ask. Uthorion stayed around more often, placating the noble houses with empty promises and token displays of force, but much of his attention was elsewhere. Pella drifted in and out, not caring to see another world drown in Uthorion’s evil. It would not be the first.

. . .

Rage. Disbelief. Insult. A flare of emotions from Uthorion suddenly drew the wandering attention of Pella back to his/her body.  
“You! Damn you!” screamed Uthorion. He was in the throne room, having leapt to his feet, staring with limitless ire at a single figure standing below him.  
They were wearing a full suit of shining steel plate, in the Tancred style, and wielded in their hand a longsword that shimmered with magic. Pella didn’t know who it was, even though she had seen that armor before. She tried to remember, yearned to remember, the memories were just below the surface, but she couldn’t recover them.  
The knight said nothing, and charged, their sword ready to swing, leaving a shimmering trail as its bearer dashed towards Uthorion. He responded with magic, mumbling a baleful word and sweeping his dainty, soft, sharp-nailed hand through the air, sending forth an arc of necrotizing green flame. As the arc ran across the ground, the stones cracked and shattered below it, an attendant rotted into dust as the flame brushed against her, the very air seemed sucked dry of vitality and warmth. The knight didn’t stop their assault, and with a single cut of their sword divided the flames into two, sending them running around the knight like water in a creek.  
As the battle raged in her senses, Pella was entirely focused on uncovering the identity of this mystery knight. Perhaps this was another Gerrik, trying to gain glory for himself by usurping the corrupt queen. That would explain why she knew of him, if he had been present at a procession, or when Uthorion had made an expedition into Gerrik lands.  
The stones of the throne room overturned themselves at Uthorion’s command, the light turned to darkness, corruption poured from his soft lips like fog. The knight fought on, unhindered, sword-point aimed squarely at Uthorion. The High Lord began to fall back, stumbling backwards into the throne. Was Uthorion afraid? Impossible.  
No, this was no Gerrik vassal. They were wearing a violet surcoat in the style of house Tancred, and their skill was far beyond that of any mere knight. As they attacked, even in full plate, each movement was perfectly timed and smooth. And the grunts of exertion, the cries of anger and hatred, this was a woman’s voice. Who was she, who would dare to attack the queen of all Aysle and draw “her” wrath? Pella had seen such agility before, and it called to her, making her wish to simply marvel at the beauty of it rather than focus on remembering who this was.  
The knight was in melee with Uthorion, striking at his limbs, swinging with precision to split his skull, sword dancing this way and that to find a single opening. Uthorion for his part fought with magical might, the body not being much suited for physical battle. With a flick of his wrist he summoned forth flames and ice shards and slowed time and foul necromancy that nipped at the knight’s heels. Regardless, she did not slow, her blade cutting through Uthorion’s spellcraft like so much grain.  
A woman warrior, battling with sword and lance, wearing the violet surcoat of house Tancred, it was so familiar to Pella and yet so utterly foreign. There was a fog all around her mind, and the more she pushed it back the more fog bellowed forth, burying her thoughts and concealing her memories. She had to know who this was she knew that she remembered she just had to  
“No!” screamed Uthorion, and then he was gone. The black formless spirit flew from Castle Ardinay, to seek solace in the far north of Nordheim.  
Pain bloomed within Pella’s chest, surging up and down her nerves and blood vessels. It was like cotton had been removed from her ears, a black silk veil torn from over her eyes, a numbness pulled away from her skin. She could feel her silken clothes see the cracked and broken throne room, hear the frantic, haphazard beating of her own struggling heart. There was a sword in her chest, splitting her sternum and buried to the hilt.  
Pella was suddenly weak. She couldn’t hold herself up, no matter how much she tried. She started to slump backwards until someone caught her. The mysterious knight who had slain her suddenly grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her in close. She slowly lowered Pella to the ground, kneeling over her as she lay. With one gauntlet, she lifted her visor, revealing her face. It was a worn face, covered in scars and cuts, with dark blue eyes that matched Pella’s and tightly tied red hair like blood. Pella knew that face, knew those wide lips and sunken cheeks.  
“Tolwyn?” whispered Pella. And then she died.  
For a while there was blackness. It was a cool oblivion, soft and wet. There were stars there as well. There was no breath, no heartbeat. A presence, perhaps, of something in the bottomless inky dark, but little else.  
“Come back to me now. The Light still needs you.”  
Pella woke up, her breath surging into her lungs with a gasp. Tolwyn’s hand, stripped of its armor, was on her chest, a soft ethereal glow emanating out from it and pouring onto her skin. As she gasped for air, her chest heaving and her heart trying to break through her ribcage, the glow faded away. Pella looked back up at the face of Tolwyn Tancred. She was smiling, just a bit, even though she looked like hell.  
Pella grabbed the back of Tolwyn’s helmet with one arm, pulling herself up to meet her. Then she kissed Tolwyn, lips meeting hers, tongue desperate to taste her love once again. For a second Tolwyn was surprised, but with Pella’s lips pressed to her mouth she relented, closing her eyes and softly embracing Pella. The warmth of Tolwyn’s skin, the smell of her sweat, the sound of her breath, it was all a homecoming to Pella, something that she had been starved of for far too long. The two of them were locked together, eyes closed, lips and warmth pressed together. They explore one another in patterns that were all too familiar even after all this time. The passionate kisses left Pella breathless and weak, but she wouldn’t let go, not to Tolwyn, not now that she finally had her in her arms once again. Eventually her strength gave out, and Pella collapsed back onto the floor utterly exhausted, the taste of Tolwyn’s tongue still filling her mouth.  
“You were dead, the Carredon—“  
“Shhh…” said Tolwyn, gazing deeply into Pella’s eyes. “I was… asleep, for a while. I don’t know why I woke up, but I did. The things I saw on my way back… Pella, there are countless worlds beyond the sphere of Aysle, I’ll have to tell you about them.”  
“I know, dear. I’ve conquered them.” Pella’s hand moved almost of its own accord, reaching up for Tolwyn’s chest. She was almost disappointed to find the cold, smooth metal of a breastplate waiting for her.  
“You look sick, are you all right?”  
Pella’s breath was labored, her skin clammy and covered in sweat. She felt feverish and warm, and lifting up her arm was already proving to be draining. “No, I can’t exactly say that I am.”  
“Come on, you need to rest. I’ll take you to your chambers, assuming Uthorion didn’t move the damn things…”  
Pella giggled in a way that she only did when she was sleepy or else drunk. “Oooh, dragging me off to bed are we? And here I thought knights were meant to be noble.”  
Tolwyn grinned, bringing just a bit of warmth back to Pella’s heart at the sight of it. “Hmph. Shouldn’t you be giving some elaborate speech about how I’ve saved you, but the people of Aysle need me and I must ‘ride again, my champion’?”  
“Oh shut up and kiss me,” said Pella. She did, quicker, less hungry and desperate, but no less warm and beautiful. Pella was left limp in Tolwyn’s arms, smiling in spite of the pain and exhaustion. Everything had turned around all at once, and so quickly that it seemed impossible.  
Tolwyn grabbed tightly onto Pella and hefted her off the cold floor of the throne room. Several of the guards and attendants who had not fled during the duel were now looking on with discomfort at the sudden display of closeness between their queen and this strange woman who had been gone since long before any of them were even born. Pella was held tight, resting against Tolwyn’s breastplate and curling up in her grip like a tired child. For her part, Tolwyn seemed entirely unencumbered by Pella’s weight, and made good pace through the back halls of Castle Ardinay. Pella gazed up into Tolwyn’s eyes, taking in her features, finding them incredibly familiar even after all this time. Tolwyn didn’t look back; she guessed that she was looking around at the castle, seeing what had changed there, as quite a bit had during Uthorion’s reign.  
The doors to Uthorion’s bedchamber were unlocked. With one hand, Tolwyn twisted the doorknob, shoving the door open with Pella’s feet. In a few long strides Tolwyn had crossed the room, and slowly deposited Pella on the bed. Pella gave an expectant look up at her, a slight pout and a quick flick of the eye designed to be as inviting as possible.  
“I’m sorry my love, I can’t,” said Tolwyn, wearily. “There’s more work to be done, much more. Veil Piercer might not have spilled its last blood tonight, even.”  
Pella was too exhausted to respond. How had Uthorion even been able to stand, using a body this drained, this weak. Perhaps it had been his necromancy at work, sustaining the flesh like one of his walking corpse minions. Pella tried to pry into her memories of Uthorion’s possession. When was the last time he had given her body food?  
Tolwyn pulled off her helmet, shaking her head to let her hair spill down her shoulder. While Pella had always preferred to keep hers braided, Tolwyn was less involved with her hair, usually keeping it tied or pinned up when she was in combat, and letting it flow free otherwise. Pella had always wondered what her wife would look like with her hair cut short, matching her rough personality, but she had refused every time it was brought up.  
Then began the long, arduous task of removing the rest of her armor. Tolwyn had done it hundreds of times, and undid buckles and lacing with practiced efficiency, but for Pella it was an act of utmost beauty. One by one, the various disconnected pieces were carefully set down on the floor of the bedroom, revealing the thickly padded shirt and trousers that knights wore underneath. Pella made it an exercise to try to remember the names of every piece as it came off. Those were the pauldrons, she thought, and that bit of the chest armor is called the faulds. She knew that a long time ago she had memorized them all just to impress Tolwyn, but most of the names were lost to the fog of ages.  
Another feeling began to drip into Pella’s psyche as her wife undressed. It was a feeling entirely natural for a woman, unbecoming of a queen, and entirely forgotten in decades of life as a bodiless spirit. While the… padded armor thing was by no means a revealing garment, she could see just a bit of the familiar outline through it. There was the flair of her hips, the breadth of her shoulders, the subtle suggestion of her chest through the thick material. She began to think, to consider, to imagine what she might do to a body like that. She hadn’t been able to do that with Uthorion around. During the early years, when she still had delusions of independence, she would still sometimes entertain thoughts of love and worse things. Uthorion mocked her for them, turned them against her, endlessly ranted about how even if she could be given any pleasure of the flesh, that flesh was HIS and HE would experience it and SHE was nothing but a hanger-on who should have DIED to begin with.  
By the time Tolwyn was finished dressing down, Pella was crying. She was crying for all that she had lost, for all that had been done, all those who had been born and died bearing the cruel weight of High Lord Uthorion, while she had done nothing but watch and wait for someone else to save her. As Tolwyn buckled her scabbard to her side and set off, Pella wished that she could follow her. But already, roots were working their way into her flesh and bones, slowing her movements, weighing her down to the bed, making her wish nothing more than to fall asleep. As the tears dried from her cheeks, the last thing she could remember hearing was the distant clatter of blades on blades. And then she was asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

“Good morning, my lord,” thought Pella. There was no response. “Good morning?” she thought again. Nothing. Was he mad? She hadn’t forgotten, she did what he wanted her to!  
Pella threw off the sheets, begging mentally for Uthorion’s approval. Her breath went in seconds from the slow gentleness of sleep to quick and shallow gasps. In seconds, her imagination and memory dredging out all of the punishments and tortures that Uthorion could provide, a desperate part of her crying that all of these and worse would be hers to face if she didn’t serve him, praise him, prostrate herself before him.  
And then she remembered. She could feel the soft satin on her skin, the gentle cotton wrapped around her, even the weight of her own arm as she lifted it. She was alive again. Uthorion was gone, because Tolwyn had come to save her. That set her thoughts drifting. Tolwyn was here. Pella glanced to her right. Tolwyn was not only here, she was asleep on the bed next to her. In an instant, a desperate need seized her heart and soul.  
She pivoted over her hip and lay on top of Tolwyn. She was real, still asleep, warm breath caressing Pella’s face. Pella planted a quick kiss on Tolwyn’s lips. Then another. Then more, showering her with kisses running down her cheek, her strong jaw, her neck, her collarbone. Pella’s hands were busy as well, rubbing against the muscles of Tolwyn’s side, feeling out the curves of her chest with the lightest touch.  
Tolwyn’s eyes fluttered open, and a slight grin formed on her lips. “Excited, are we?”  
Pella ignored her, instead lavishing kisses on the underside of her jaw, around her neck. “You’re real. You’re alive,” Pella said, her breaths quick and shallow. “I thought that yesterday was naught more than a dream.”  
“I’m right in front of you,” whispered Tolwyn, running her hand through Pella’s hair, which had long since come loose and was spilling messily across her back.  
For a momentary eternity, the two locked eyes. Pella longed to touch, to kiss, to embrace Tolwyn now and forever. Tolwyn’s eyes were familiar, so much so, and yet so much had changed. They looked sad, aged, like she had just come home from a war all on her own. She was curious about how Tolwyn had come back after being carried off by the Carredon, but that could wait for later. Pella noticed Tolwyn’s pupils drifting down towards her lips. With how long they had been married before, that was all she needed.  
The next few minutes were a blissful blur of skin on skin, gentle touches and tight squeezes. Tolwyn’s shirt came off quickly, leaving her thick slabs of muscle and beautiful breasts open for Pella to reacquaint herself with. There were no words, no sounds in the sequestered bedchamber of Castle Ardinay besides soft moans and quick gasps of breath in between. For the first time in a long time, Pella felt, warm comfort and hot lust pumping through her veins. It was as if she was a young woman again, a queen to be, stealing kisses and forbidden touches in the castle pantry. She had needed this, to be straddled atop her love, feeling all of her that there was to feel and simply enjoying being a human being again. The ache that had been building up ever since Tolwyn arrived was undone, bit by bit. She didn’t care about what she had lost, or how long it had taken for Tolwyn to return. Everything she wanted was right in front of her, the curve of Tolwyn’s breasts, the feeling of her muscles under her skin, her lips and nose and dark blue eyes.  
Tolwyn reached up, fumbling slightly with the collar of Pella’s robe, and started unveiling her smooth pale shoulder. A sudden panic gripped Pella. Thousands of times, Uthorion had stripped this skin bare, admiring the flesh in a mirror before clothing it again to his own liking. He had enjoyed it so much, to have complete ownership over someone else’s body, to do with it as he wished. And now Tolwyn was doing the same.  
“Please, no,” whispered Pella.   
Tolwyn stopped instantly. “I’m sorry,” she whispered back, withdrawing her hand.  
“It’s alright dear,” said Pella, slipping the collar back up to its proper place. She was no longer in the mood, although the view below her remained spectacular. She slipped off the bed, leaving Tolwyn to get dressed. With that out of her system, Pella started to think ahead. There would be a great deal of work to do. While her memories were fuzzy, she knew that another invasion was well underway. As she spoke, the hordes of Darkness were pouring through into another reality, washing it over with Uthorion’s evil and harvesting the lives of its people like corn. She would need to arrange a counterattack.  
Pella stripped out of her robe, trying to avoid looking down and instead focusing on what she was to wear. This was a time of war, and she would have to prepare for it. Far in the back of her closet, all but unworn for decades, lay a shirt of elvish mail, lighter than steel and tough enough to deflect anything short of a lance at full charge. That would do nicely. Over her semi-rigid stays, below the purple-black blouse, the thin layer of metal would keep her safe from the agents of Darkness that crawled through Castle Ardinay.  
“Getting ready for war, are we?” said Tolwyn. Pella looked back over her shoulder, catching a glimpse of her wife stretching her arms, still topless, a sight that brought a blush to her cheeks.  
“Of course. Uthorion is still out there, we have to stop him.”  
Tolwyn sighed. “I know, dear. But now, this morning? So little time for love…”  
Pella laughed. She missed being able to laugh, and the joy of it turned a quick chuckle into a long fit of giggling. “I think we’ve had more than enough love for one morning, Knight Commander.”  
“Hmm.” Tolwyn scanned her eyes around the room. “I won’t be ready for any combat for a while, not after yesterday. You—Uthorion put up quite the fight, in case you didn’t know. Aren’t you at least a little curious how I’m still alive?”  
“Of course I am! But now’s not the time. We’re fighting a war, not hosting a dinner party,” said Pella. She wanted desperately to forget about what had just happened, the momentary terror towards the one person she trusted the most. The best way to do that was to jump back into her queenly duties, to put on the mask and seize command of the situation.  
“Yes, very well. If we’re going to do more fighting, I want to get to the armory at least. This armor…” Tolwyn gestured to the discarded plates scattered on the floor, “has done its job, but it was damaged and I don’t think I’ll be able to use it again.”  
Pella turned around, pulling a mid-length battle skirt up around her waist. “Alright you storyteller. You can tell me all about it on the way there.” Pella wrapped her arms around Tolwyn’s neck, stood on the tips of her toes, and kissed her again. Tolwyn was briefly distracted from her mission, stopping to stroke Pella’s hair before she set off for the armory.  
Something had changed about Castle Ardinay since the night before, something imperceptible yet so incredibly obvious. Before the place was full of shadows, darkness clinging to the corners of every room like sticky tar pouring through the cracks, or craven beasts waiting to leap out when the sun set. The lighting in the castle was still poor, mostly provided by candles or enchanted fey lights in the main corridors, but even the darkness was not as deep. Pella marveled at the golden light of dawn, vision growing blurry as she realized what she had been missing all this time.  
Tolwyn wouldn’t let her marvel at the world for too long, taking her by the wrist as they navigated the stone passages towards the armory, deep in the core of Castle Ardinay.  
“Tell me the story, love,” said Pella.  
“Of course,” said Tolwyn. Her countenance momentarily darkened, as though she was stifling some great pain. “When the Carredon carried me off, things became… strange. The clouds became dark, and warped with lightning in impossible colors, and choked with ash and soot.”  
“And the hairs on your arms stood on end, while your soul felt as if it was being dragged away from the world and placed within something unreal?”  
Tolwyn blinked at Pella, unbelievingly. “Yes, exactly. How do you know?”  
Pella frowned. “I’ve felt it before. Every time Uthorion dragged my body through to other worlds. I must have done it dozens of times by now.”  
Tolwyn nodded. “You’ll have to tell me about that as well. Regardless, we eventually came crashing to the ground, somewhere far away. I killed it there, drove my sword through its gut. I was exhausted, mores than I’ve been in my entire life. I fell asleep next to its cooling corpse, and I have no idea how long I was unconscious for.”  
The couple had reached the spiral staircases and began to head down, down into the depths of the castle. “You’ve been gone for a very long time. A hundred years, roughly.”  
“I know,” said Tolwyn. “It was a long journey to get here, I had a chance to notice that things had changed. I’m just glad that you’re still the same.”  
Pella couldn’t bear to keep looking at her beloved’s face. “I wouldn’t be so—“  
“Where are all of the staff?” asked Tolwyn. Either she hadn’t heard Pella, or she had chosen to ignore her.  
“I… what?” stuttered Pella.  
“The staff. I’ve been in this castle for almost a day and besides the guards I’ve hardly seen more than one or two maids, pages, anything like that.”  
A series of memories suddenly flooded into Pella’s mind, answering Tolwyn’s question in entirely too much detail. She suddenly went pale and nearly fell, only for Tolwyn’s arm to catch her.  
“What’s wrong?” asked Tolwyn.  
Pella clenched her eyes shut, lifting herself out of Tolwyn’s grasp. “He never liked dealing with human staff, probably because he gave up his own humanity so long ago. Most of them were fired, or used for his magic, or killed and had their bodies hidden away. Most of the work’s being done by goblins and wights and worse things.”  
“And they’re still around?” said Tolwyn, drawing her sword an inch or two out of its sheath.  
“I… I don’t know.”  
“We’ll have to keep our eyes open, then.” Tolwyn sheathed her blade. Pella knew that any creature of Darkness that showed its face in her castle wouldn’t last a moment against her, let alone Tolwyn. She had been aching to try her magic once more, the abilities that made her Queen in the first place.  
The bottom floor of the castle was far more lively than the upper levels, with squads of guards still patrolling, as well as a light presence of battered and forlorn cleaning staff. They winced as Pella passed, as if expecting her to lash out. She made sure to complement their work and dedication, bringing more confusion than happiness as she did so.  
At last, they reached the armory, which thankfully was empty. Pella shut the door behind them, bolting it shut. “Where were you when you woke up? How did you get back?” Pella asked the moment the door was shut.  
Tolwyn picked up a helmet from the floor of the armory and turned it over in her hands. “I was still by the Carredon’s skeleton. Whatever world I had landed in… it was a place of death, far worse than any of Uthorion’s realms.”  
“I wouldn’t be so sure,” said Pella. “I’ve had a chance to become acquainted with Uthorion. His depravity, his hunger for death and corruption is beyond what we —”  
“You weren’t there!” Tolwyn snapped. Her face twisted into a grimace of anger. For a breathless moment, Pella looked up into Tolwyn’s eyes and saw only anger. Then the softened before her, returning to the eyes that she knew. When she continued, it was barely above a whisper, as if she were starved for breath. “I swear by the gods, love, that it felt like I was being killed slowly just by being there. And the silence… there was no wind, no animals, no life, I could hear my heart beating in my chest.”  
“How did you get out?” asked Pella. She wasn’t mad at Tolwyn for being angry. The look on her face had been apology enough.  
“There was a tower, it was the only thing around besides bones and ruins. Inside there were gates, doors that sent me somewhere else.” Tolwyn slipped a padded shirt over her head. “Would you know where the half-plates are? I don’t have the strength in me for another day in a full harness.”  
Pella pointed her finger towards one corner of the armory. “What happened then?”  
“I felt something pulling me towards one of the portals, so I went through,” said Tolwyn, strapping a metal plate around her shin. “I ended up underground, in a place I had never been before. Even there, I had this… feeling pulling me forward.”  
“Underground? That’s a rather odd place to end up.” There was something niggling at the back of Pella’s mind, something she should be remembering. She dismissed it for the time being.  
“I met beings in those tunnels that I didn’t think could exist anywhere. There were these people who had the bodies of beetles, called themselves ustanah. I’m not sure how they learned to speak Ayslish, but they gave me food and water in exchange for my dagger.”  
“Amazing,” said Pella. “And those tunnels… they lead you home?”  
“In a way, yes.” Tolwyn stopped to finagle with the leather strap on an iron shinguard. “I only resurfaced a few times, in places I had never seen before, but eventually the tunnels came back to Aysle. The stories I could tell you… we would be here all day, I’m afraid.”  
“I wish we could stay here all day. It feels like going out of the frying pan and into the fire. I just got control of my own damn body and now I’m using it to fight lurks or whatever it is we’re going to do.” Pella slumped over, leaning against one of the walls.  
Tolwyn shot her a stern look. “We swore an oath, dear. I saw things while I was making my way across Aysle, things that my conscience won’t let me ignore. If—“  
“I know,” Pella interrupted. “I know it all. I’ll follow you wherever it is you go, and battle the Darkness by your side.”  
“You’ll follow me? I think you’ve forgotten which one of us is the Queen.”  
Pella sighed. That was the rub, wasn’t it? She was the one with the reigns to the kingdom, in the end. “I’ll lead the way, then. We’ll start with the castle, clear out any of Uthorion’s little creeps that stayed behind, then… Call a meeting of the Houses.”  
Tolwyn stopped midway through tying the straps on her helmet. She was wearing what one might call a half-plate, tough armor covering her chest, stomach, shoulders, and hips while leaving her arms and legs exposed. “All of the houses? They’ll be angry.”  
“You don’t know the half of it, dear. My memory is starting to come back, and I have a bit of a score to settle.”


End file.
